


Idols AU Book One

by despiceheadazul666



Series: Idols AU [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: AU, Bondage, Child trauma, Drug Use, F/M, IdolsAU, Implied Child Abuse, M/M, POV, Satanic Ritual, Storyline, blueberry transformation, gorillaz au, mpreg (non-kink), stuffing kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despiceheadazul666/pseuds/despiceheadazul666
Summary: Look at the stories of the Idols AU. This is phase 1.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot, Paula Cracker/Murdoc Niccals, Paula Cracker/Stuart "2D" Pot, Stuart "2D" Pot/Original Character(s)
Series: Idols AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763932
Kudos: 11





	1. Meet Stuart Beauregarde

**Author's Note:**

> the “underage” thing doesn’t mean any of the characters(protagonists) are having sex with minors. There’s a character who manipulates young boys and there’s only mentions not total smut scenes of minors. There’s no kinks involving minors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events:  
> Introduction  
> Infancy  
> Childhood  
> Teens  
> Present
> 
> Contains freaky shit, homophobic slurs, and teen love, not porn, but subtle references.

Stuart Beauregarde, the Saturday Boy at Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium and boyfriend of Paula Cracker. This boy was known to be town goth and he was a bit “feminine” as they say due to his taste in goth and goth lolita fashion. The nineteen-year-old would spend his money on fabrics, material, sewing supplies, music records, and Victorian junk. If you visited his house, you’d meet his Catholic parents, David and Rachel Beauregarde. David loved his son very dearly, but didn’t approve much about the clothing Stu would wear. Rachel, on the other hand, was supportive, but hesitant.

For starters, let’s begin with Stuart’s first moment in the world. He was only a hairless, pink crying baby. David warmly smiled at his healthy newborn son, mouthing “Stuart” at him. David Tusspot now had a son named Stuart Harold Beauregarde?

“Mr. Beauregarde,” a nurse approached David and the exhausted Rachel. “What are you naming your son?”

“Stuart Harold Beauregarde, dear,” David settled, kissing his wife. “Tusspot was such an embarrassing name. It would’ve been worse if we were Pots.”

“Isn’t Beauregarde the surname of a children’s book character?” Rachel asked, cradling her baby in her hands.

“My nephew’s favorite book. My brother suggested it. If Stuart was a girl, I would’ve named her Periwinkle.”

“A lovely name for a little girl, but wasn’t the character’s name Violet?”

“Yes, honey. But I think Periwinkle is better than Violet.”

During his first two years, everything was normal. Rachel would be on maternity leave to take care of her baby boy and David would work extra hours to be able to pay for the house bills. He still got to spend little time with his son, watching natural disaster shows on the television and Stuart was in awe at the tornados. Rachel was home cooking meals and giving Stuart bowls of porridge and his bottle of milk. She would regularly breastfeed him and try to lead herself astray from coffee and alcohol. As a nurse, she knew caffeine or alcohol in her breastmilk would be risky for her beloved child. She and David would never have any fights for they had their precious angel to keep them in check. 

However, things became strange when Stuart became three. The toddler always loved blueberries and his mother would warn him of the “consequences” of eating too many of them. 

“But Mama,” Stu clapped, “blueberries have a-aantioxidants a-and vitamin C! They’re good for me.”

“Excellent!” Rachel cooed. Her baby would’ve been eating sugary artificial snacks like other toddlers his age, but always chose natural alternatives such as strawberries, huckleberries, raspberries, and so on. This boy was definitely healthy—or so Rachel thought. That is until she noticed something peculiar about Stu and those blueberries. He ate a few one day to break out in hives on his face, back, and arms. The bumps looked like normal bumps if it wasn’t for the slightly blue tint to the tiny pimples. 

_He must’ve touched a plant outside_ , Rachel thought and simply coated the boy in ointment to ease the rash. Within hours, his hives have vanished by bedtime.

As the years went on, these rashes would become blotches of blue when he was a child. To cover up, Stu would wear scarves, sweaters, gloves, and one time, a ski mask. The poor child didn’t know what was going on with his skin and those blotches seemed to wash off with a little bit of soap, water, and elbow grease. The bumps were gone and were substituted by blue blotches, but he would just wash them off in the sink as quick as possible or cover up with a scarf. No one suspected a thing since little Stu loved messing with paint. Stu wasn’t the smartest, so he couldn’t connect the dots of the true cause of his situation. When he was approaching adolescence, the color coated him from head to toe. At that time, he had just recovered from his tree incident and would hide painkillers in his book bag to numb his constant migraines. His azure blue hair got him the most attention and girls would be interested in his unique hair color. 

At 14, the shy boy was no more and replaced with a cocky sassy goth. He began shopping for shoes, even crafting his own platforms! He would add custom pins on his book bag and even his blazer. He would experiment with makeup he got from some of the punk girls from school and they would sometimes help. He wanted to get piercings, so he invited over a friend to stab two metal studs in his nipples. Surprisingly, the studs never got rejected thanks to his comrade’s skills. Style was a great thing for Mr. Beauregarde and it showed in his personality too.

Unfortunately, the allergic reaction got worse when he was in his prime years in secondary school. This time, he would feel...funny—like he ate too much at lunch. He could remember eating a measly sandwich, some vegetables, and a blueberry smoothie he packed and kept cold in the school fridge. Stu’s stomach would growl rather loudly and he would be embarrassed of the disruption. He felt the buttons on his blazer get tighter only to realize that his stomach was swelling. He was only sixteen when it happened and his first girlfriend, Paula, was horrified. The girl ran to get a cafeteria supervisor to help Stu. The swelling didn’t stop there as the buttons gave out and popped off, revealing his growing stomach. The other pupils began laughing and pulling out their Polaroid cameras. Others shouted obscenities and others called him “Violet”.

The supervisor had never seen such madness in his life. Doctors would called and police officers investigated the matter. Researchers claimed it was his blueberry smoothie that caused it and concluded the boy had a strange allergy that would lead to something that happened in a classic children’s novel. Stu was sent to a hospital and their only solution was to “juice” him. They had a team of nurses go at two of his sides and squeeze him, making juice drip from his nose, mouth, ears, and other areas. After the visit, the parents were told to keep Stu under a no-blueberry-diet to avoid any complications.

Of course, Paula sort of liked it in a way. Her first time was with Stu when both had turned seventeen. David and Rachel were on a date while the lovebirds hang out at Stu’s house. Both were watching a zombie movie on the telly and Paula had snuggled up to her boyfriend. Paula was a punk-alt girl who always wanted to bring change for the better of women and Stu wanted to show people what he was made of.

“Stuie, baby?” Paula said, arms around her boyfriend. “Remember what happened last year at the cafeteria?”

“Oh please,” Stu blushed. “I ‘fought we were done wif dah!”

“I sort of thought it was hot. Your body swelling... it was cute.”

“R-really?” Stu asked in shock. Everyone thought it was the stupidest thing ever and they treated him like a clown for it.

“Will you be my—ahem—blueberry boy? Please?” Paula knocked him, his back on the couch seat with her towering over him seductively.

“Alright,” Stu chuckled. “Only a one-time fing.”

The problem was that Stu wasn’t completely ready for this, but his confidence made him dull. The question he ignored was “how was he going to get back to normal afterwards?”.

Luckily, Paula had already bought a mini blueberry pie from the convenience store before coming to the house. She took out a glass served some milk for Stu. The girl placed the cardboard case into Stu’s hand, encouraging him to open it.

Hesitantly, Stu opened up the case and took a nibble out of the pastry. It felt good to taste the sweet fruit again and he closed his eyes to savor the sugary flavor as he swallowed. He drank some of the milk and sighed in pleasure. He realized that the little nibble was enough for the transformation as his nose began to feel tingly.

“Baby!” Paula gasped. “Your nose! Your fingertips! They’re turning blue!”

“No need to worry!” Stu reassured. “It was a good idea, Paula! I’ll be yo’ beautiful berry just for yew.”

Paula embraced her beloved, taking off his shirt rubbed down some of his chest hair, purring all the while as he began to grow. Luckily, not enough to damage the house in the slightest. 

“Honey,” Paula said, climbing up her blue boyfriend. “What do we do now?”

“Kiss me,” Stu suggested and his wish came true by tasting Paula’s cherry red lipstick.

After osculating for a good two hours, something hit Stu. His parents will be back any minute and he needed to be juiced and take a bath before they get here!

“Paula!” he began flapping his hands. “Me folks will be back! Quick! Juice me!”

“How?!” Paula panicked. “How did you get back to normal at the hospital last year?”

“A bunch o’ nurses squeezed me! But yo’ only here! I don’ know!”

“Shit,” Paula said, trying to figure out a way until she looked down to see dripping at his knob. “I have an idea.”

“W-wot?! B-but I don’ ‘ave any condoms!” Stu protested. “I’m toast!”

“Stu! Relax!” Paula screamed. “I need to do this. But I need your okay for this. I love you so much because you’re my shining star, my comfort in this terrible world. Will you be my first time as my one and only?”

“I—“ Stu paused. “Go on, dear. I love yew more dan anyfing. If we need to get all dis out, I want yew to ‘ave me juice.”

“Thank you, love.”

Stu got out of the shower, back to his normal skin color and he was created with Paula, who took a pill and drank some water.

“Good thing I came prepared,” Paula kissed Stu. “Otherwise I would be pregnant in a matter of time.”

“Frank yew fo’ takin’ care o’ me!” Stu said.

“Since when were you all soft?” Paula laughed, gaining a playful shove form the brat.

“Shuddup!” Stu chuckled. “Now I go’a get dressed. We’ll finish the movie when I get out.”

“Fine by me.”

Now (August 15, 1997) Stu was nineteen, still lived with his parents and had no plans for his future other than his love for music, worked at Uncle Norm’s Organ Emporium as a cashier or Saturday Boy. Today was pay day and Stuart would collect his money to treat his lovely lady.

“Stu,” his co-worker, Mason Bracie stood beside the keyboard. “Shouldn’t you at least try one of these blueberry donuts?”

“I told yew, mate,” Stu responded, keeping his distance from the deep-tried treat. “Not fond of blueberries. They make me gag.”

“Suit yourself, Violet,” Mason teased and proceeded to eat.

The Saturday boy spaced out, thinking about seeing Paula for dinner tonight. They planned to go to the new restaurant that opened in town. It was an Italian restaurant and Paula loved spaghetti. He imagined his date to be like in Lady and the Tramp, kissing when they ate spaghetti together. However, the man’s daydream was cracked when Mason suddenly slapped him.

“Dude! I said start stacking up the shelves behind you! Are you retarded?!”

“Dah fuck?!” Stu grabbed his Goth Weekly magazine and hit Mason with it. “Respect me fuckin’ boundaries, bitch!”

“You know what?” Mason snapped. “I’m going on break. I don’t care if Norm tells me off!”

“Leave! I ‘ope ‘Orton shits in yo’ coffee!”

Stu turned to see two men walk into the shop, looking at the “on sale” area. A young girl walked in after them. She had brown skin, small eyes, and a mop of coarse hair in braids. The girl looked around maybe sixteen judging by her height and school blazer. She browsed the guitars and lesson books, picking an intermediate book and placing it on the counter. 

“Ello,” Stu huffed, not even looking at the girl and scanned the music book. “Fifteen pound thirty-five.”

“Alright,” the girl said in her Asian accent. She pulled out a twenty pound note and handed it to the cashier. “I think your makeup looks cool. Give you credit on the eyeliner.”

“O-oh?” Stu finally glanced at her. “F-fanks?”

The teenager collected her change and book, giving Stuart a slight smile. “You’re welcome. I’m still finding my own clothing style. Bye!”

The cashier didn’t answer back. Everyone would call him emo or a faggot for wearing such makeup and dresses, but this foreign student didn’t. He didn’t feel any attraction towards the teen, but he felt more of acceptance. Again, his thoughts were shattered when a gruff voice yelled at him.

“Oi, faggot!” the man screamed. “This rotten keyboard have a good 30% off?”

“Let’s see,” Stu grumbled, grabbing a copy of the tag and scanning it. “I fink so. It’s only 112 pounds. Pretty cheap, I say.”

The man’s mouth hung open and his face grew red as he made a grab for Stu’s black lace tie, dragging him close.

“Listen here, boy,” he sternly chided. “I don’t have this much money. If you got common sense like a good gentleman, you’ll ask me to pay half of that.”

“Charlie—“ the other man rung his hands, trying to stop his aggressive brother.

“Silence, Richard!” Charlie barked back, then focused his energy back on Stuart. “Got it, sonny!”

Stu began wriggling from Charlie’s grip, showing his bratty self again. “Yew let me go ‘fis instant!”

Suddenly, the men heard the sound of a car approaching. Charlie turned around to see a Vaux Austra coming in hot through the store windows. The window shattered, glass flying, and the brothers ran away from the car’s range, but Stuart did not. He stared, speechless at the car as it was coming closer to him. Suddenly, the car collided into his face, sending the young man to the other side of the store. 


	2. The Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events:  
> First Accident  
> Courtroom  
> The first day of service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains:  
> Racial slurs, racism, mentions of underage assault, and violence

Murdoc’s car was in the correct position. Those synths were sure to be his and fame would be well-deserving. He’d been in countless bands consisting of metal and punk. The punk shifted to D and pushed the accelerator, going full speed into the shop’s window. It became fast for him, but he caught a glimpse of a thin girl with purple hair and large amounts of eyeliner. It wasn’t long before his bumper it her face, sending the girl flying to the other side of the shop, leaving her unconscious. The punk ran outside of his car to see that the girl wasn’t a girl. It was a feminine man with one missing eye and blood began to pour out of his face.

Oh no...

“Dude,” Murdoc’s associate, Timothy, gasped. “You fucked up big time. You’re going to jail, I’m out!”

“Arsehole!” Murdoc called out as the coward ex-associate fled the scene. The mixed Brit immediately felt the weight of the brothers restraining him to the floor.

“Richard!” Charlie ordered. “Call the police! Check on the boy, too!”

“I’m on it!” Richard began dialing on the shop’s telephone.

“¡Déjame en paz!” Murdoc yelled, pathetically wriggling. “I refuse to go to jail!”

“Nah! You’re staying put till the police get here, you criminal!”

This was it. The chair is waiting in prison for him. The trial would be bust because he was practically broke and who knows if that goth cutie—err— dullard had privileged parents who would sue or have him executed?! This fat, cheese-smelling man was restraining him and there was no way to break loose. 

When the coppers arrived, Murdoc was heavily mistreated. Stuffed into the seat and constantly insulted and belittled. Though, these were the cops he was expecting. 

“I bet you’re one of those awful gypsies. Ya look like one,” the first officer said.

“Nah! Nah!” The other shook his head. “He looks like one of those Mexican moochers.”

“Black-Cuban, you dumbarses,” Murdoc scowled. “And I’m also British. You might know my father Sebastian Jacob Niccals.”

“Sebastian?” The second cop asked, then scratched his chin. “The Stoke-On-Trent drunk? **YOU’RE** his son?”

“Wouldn’t expect any more from a son of that man!” The first officer laughed along with his co-worker. “Even though he’s a white man...”

Murdoc rolled his eyes, uninterested in their conversation. He tried to think positive about the upcoming trial and that boy he crashed into was rather attractive. That poor sod was probably on his way to the hospital, lying unconscious.

  
The trial was embarrassing. He had pink eye that day and needed to ease the itching **BAD**. The court room was filled with people glaring and the comatose boy was in a wheelchair with a couple behind him, who Murdoc assumed were his parents. Only the husband was glaring while his wife looked worried. The bassist wonders if she has pity for him as well as her own son. The public defender was sweating like crazy from all the glaring and murmuring around him. He begins glaring at Murdoc to make him feel guilty of the anxiety he’s feeling.

“Mr. Niccals,” the judge spoke. “Your charges indicate that the sound of electricity or prison bars forever closing on you.”

Murdoc looked at the ground. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“But there’s an alternative you might accept,” the Judge sighed. “Offered by Mr. and Mrs. Beauregarde. Given by your... background from your late mother, you people love to work. You shall receive 10,000 hours of community service and an additional 5 hours a day caring for Stuart. Do you accept?”

Murdoc began thinking. This judge was seriously racist to think like that, but it’s better than being in the chair or being arse-raped in jail. “I accept,” Murdoc sighs. Obviously, it was better breaking your back than getting the chair or rotting in jail. Maybe he could make a run for it and fleeing to Mexico?

“Very well,” the judge said. “Case closed.” The gavel tapped.

People got up and began to leave. An officer glares at Murdoc and unlocks the cuffs. The man finally rubbed his eyes to ease that pestering itch. He heard footsteps come up to him along with the sound of wheels squeaking. In marched a red-faced man with his vegetable of a son and plump wife in tow.

“Hope you’re happy, Niccals,” David snarled. “You HIT my fucking boy and made him into a lifeless zombie! I hope you break your back while working the straw!”

“David, honey!” his wife jumps in. “Enough, you’re going to have an attack! I’m sure Murdoc didn’t mean to hit Stuart. And he’s not going to work on a farm.”

“Yeah,” you state. “I didn’t intend on running over your son. It was an accident.”

“See?” she said. “We should try to get to know him better. God said ‘love thy neighbor’, he believes in second chances.”

_Satan, this woman is too sweet_ , Murdoc thought. He couldn’t help but glance at the wheelchair. The boy was drooling and his one blue eye was half open while the other, an empty black hole, was wide open. His tongue hung out of his maw like a rope outside a girl’s window. He was lanky, tall, and had vibrant violet hair in spikes with a small skull clip in it.

His mother was a curvy short woman. Blue eyes, blonde hair, fair skin, and notably big breasts with ample hips and a bit of a stomach. She never glared or appeared to have venom for Murdoc and just stroked her husband’s cheek to keep him from spitting out obscenities or slurs. She wore her hair in a small ponytail and had on a striped sweater and simple white pants. Her shoes were shiny and they were black pumps.

Her husband was full of venom like an angry viper. His hair was brown and eyes were brown, a little darker complexion, and a mustache. David’s body was a simple dad bod and he seemed to drink alcohol. Perhaps Murdoc could raid their house of booze. David was fairly tall, but a wee bit shorter than Stuart and he had on a brown jacket, green shirt, and dark pants along with boots. He _always_ glared. 

“Anyways, you should get to your home,” Rachel said. “Tomorrow is your first day of your service.”

The wife was pulled by her fiery husband, who looked like he was going to chide her like an angry father would to his toddler daughter. Rachel waved to Murdoc and continued her way with her family.

“Don’t worry, Stuart,” she said, stroking his hair, “you’ll be fine.”

“Would you stop saying that?” David seethed, glaring at Rachel.

“Sorry, love.”

The next morning was hectic. Murdoc probably shouldn’t have drank that much whiskey for his head felt like he was hit by a car. No time to waste, the community garden is waiting for him and so is the senior center. Today would just be that and he’ll get out at noon for lunch, then back to work until eight. Thank shit for the release time so he can have a good night sleep. However, he’d have to drive all the way to the garden in his busted up car with the engine sputtering a bit on the road. This would be no cakewalk.

“Murdoc! Nice to see you!” waved the woman with the fakest smile ever at the garden. “Now get to work, gypsy!”

She kicked his back, making him fall face first on the ground. Young volunteers began to point and laugh at Murdoc, calling him “gypsy”, “wetback”, “nigger”, and “Mexican”. The satanist just spat on the ground and dusted himself off, trying his best to ignore the brats and the woman. He placed on some gloves and a belt with hand shovels and miniature hoes.

“Start with the lettuce,” the woman snickered. “Or Leyychooga as you people call it.”

“It’s pronounced ‘lechuga’, lady,” Murdoc flatly said. “And I’ll get on with it. Just leave me be and I won’t be trouble.”

“Oh, you are trouble. That’s why you’re here, sir.”

“If the reason why I’m here is trouble, then why are those little mongrels here with you?”

“HOW DARE YOU!”

The woman began marching towards Murdoc angrily as the volunteers began to cheer for her and chant “fight”. The woman swiped at Murdoc’s face, but was immediately grabbed and thrown into the dirt, ending with the victorious spitting on her. The woman turned her face towards the towering Murdoc, then at her white shirt to find dog feces on it. She began wailing, raising her hands for a teen to help her up and carry her to the shed. A blonde boy picked her up and raced into one of the sheds.

“Now, I’ll be onto work,” Murdoc grumbled, sneering at the volunteers, heading into the lettuce field.

He had never beaten a woman before since he swore to not be a woman abuser like his father, but this was a situation of self-defense. The man picked up the watering can and began to shower the leafy vegetables. His pointed ears picked up the sound of cowboy boots from behind. One little sigh came out of the satanist and he scratched the back of his neck. 

“Look, kid,” he shook his head, “you wanna fight, come and get me.”

“Actually,” the adolescent boy said, sitting down next to Murdoc’s boots. “I like yer attitude, sir. No one’s ever stood up to Miss Gretchen Abbet Goldhouse.”

“So that’s the bitch’s name. I can file a complaint after my services.”

“Name’s Lewis. Lewis Jenkins,” the boy held out his hand to Murdoc.

“Nice to meet you,” Murdoc shook his hand and began digging into his pockets for his smokes. “Want one?”

“Thanks,” Lewis grabbed a cigarette and lit it up with his own lighter. “She confiscated mine. I owe you one.”

The two began chatting in the fields. Migrating from the lettuce field, corn patch, and to the apple trees. Murdoc had worked while he listened to Lewis talking about his home life and Miss Goldhouse’s secrets. Lewis looked like a fine young man. He was a man of nineteen like that Stuart kid. His tender age was good enough for Miss Goldhouse even when he was only sixteen when he started working at the garden. The kid didn’t boast, but rather vented his dark secret to Murdoc.

“Son,” Murdoc placed his arm behind Lewis’s shoulders. “Didn’t you ever tell anyone about this dirt?”

“No, sir,” Lewis, replied, kicking a few rocks away from the pair and focusing his energy on the the kicks. “No one will believe me.”

“I believe you. But you need to do the right thing and get her arse for this. How many lads has she done?”

“Including me? It would be about twenty-five of ‘em. She said herself and had some records and photos. Of course, we were really young.”

“I really shouldn’t ask you this,” Murdoc cut a piece of the apple and put it in Lewis’s cracked hands. “But why did you stay here even though she does this?”

“She tends to give us more money for letting her fuck us,” Lewis responded, closing his hands on the apple. “I need the extra money for my mum’s hospital bills. She has leukemia.”

“Sorry, lad,” the satanist looked down. “Mine died when I was fresh out of the womb. Got handed over to my late father and Hell began.”

“But what should I do? My mum needs the money! I can’t report Gretchen and lose this job!”

“Tell ya what, Lewis,” Murdoc stood up, hands on his hips like a stern parent. “I recommend you report that bitch to the courts, not the police. Get the pictures as proof and apply for the best jobs you can get. I can help ya.”

“Really?!” Lewis began tearing up and hugged Murdoc. “Thank you, Mr. Niccals! You’re a like a father to me!”

“I’ll play along with Gretchen’s little games for now. Tell your friends about the plan and you’ll be liberated from all of this. No child should suffer through this.”

“I will!” Lewis, teared, fixing his shirt in the process. “Let’s get her.”

  
  


That night was a night of BBC News and a couple of soaps. Murdoc felt good giving advice to a youngster who was abused. That kid may be a young man, but he turned into a man at 16 by that dreadful woman. Goldhouse would really get her fall when the courts discover her secrets and crimes. The courts would probably let her off scott-free since she’s a delicate white woman because the judges did seem pretty racist. Then again, those lads’ families wouldn’t let this injustice go and sure as Hell the satanist wouldn’t let her get away with it.

His telephone rang and he frantically picked it up. Pathetically, he tossed the receiver left and right, attempting to catch it.

“¿Mande?” Murdoc slipped.

“Uhh... is this Murdoc?” a young boy asked.

“Lewis! How did you get this number?”

“Goldhouse paid me extra to let her have it. I snuck around her desk and saw your records.”

“Lewis, please—“ Murdoc looked down at his feet, shaking his head.

“I know. It’s just...it’s sort of normal for me now. I don’t know why.”

“Kid, come to my flat. You need a father,” the satanist ordered.

Lewis’s line held up, indicating he left the phone. The elder man sat on his couch, skimming through the channels and making sure to place out some snacks for the guest. There was some crisps, hot sauce, caramel corn, beers, sodas, and chocolate. Yeah, definitely good. The satanist shuffled around, throwing away some trash and tossing out some old cans to make his flat look more presentable. After minutes of cleaning, a timid _ding dong_ was heard.

The door opened and the elder man greeted the young boy. “Come in,” he said, leading the young man inside. The boy sat on the couch, waiting for his host to join. The bassist sat down with a cigarette in his hand. “How’s yer mama?”

“She went to sleep peacefully,” Lewis gulped, fidgeting around.

“Alright, stop it,” Murdoc frowned, clutching Lewis’s little hand. “Tell me what that bitch has done.”

“Tonight was gross,” Lewis choked. “She forced me to stick something inside a girl volunteer. She’s about 22. Goldhouse took pictures!”

“Another victim,” he huffed. “You have evidence?”

“Made copies and stashed them into my bag. It’s at my house.”

The elder puffed out some smoke and stamped the stick onto a glass plate, using it as an ashtray. “I want you to get whatever evidence you can. Whether it’s pictures she’s taken, video recordings, or audio tapes... and give them to the courts or any adult you trust. Report it.”

“Thanks, Sir.”

Lewis’s hand hovered over the remote control and he looked at Murdoc. The elder’s eyes approved of the young boy’s decision, so the boy took the remote and changed the channel to a crime movie. The images of the movie began playing in their minds as they gulped down bottles and munched on popcorn, crisps, and chips. Lewis cracked a few jokes as both men got drunk.

Midnight. The TV was set to static and Lewis was passed out on the couch. A few crumbs lied on Lewis’s hair and hot sauce stains were on his red shirt. Murdoc removed the boy’s shirt and covered him with a blanket and kissed his forehead. The elder felt like a better father than his own ever was.

“Goodnight, son,” Murdoc whispered and went into his own bedroom. He closed the door, but didn’t lock it in case Lewis woke up and needed something. Nothing lewd ever came to kind about Lewis and neither were any romantic thoughts. Lewis was only a son to care for and someone who needed guidance.

Tomorrow was the day to truly meet the Beauregardes and their vegetable son. Lewis would have to leave to work at that horrible community garden and take care of his mother. Lewis said she “slept peacefully”, but Murdoc could sense some dread in the urchin’s voice. Whatever. Lewis **will** get assistance from Murdoc one way or another. This wasn’t some kid, no! This was a little boy to care for, love, and give help to.


	3. Comfy Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events:  
> Meeting the Family  
> Saturday Night Party  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains mentions of sex, actual sex, homophobic slurs, physical abuse, racist slurs, and murder.

The alarm clock banged into Murdoc’s already broken mind. He reached for the cursed device and looked at it.

_“_ _8:30 am...”_

“Shit!” he whispered to himself, rushing to get his pants on. He scattered to the living room to get his smokes, flask, and coat only to stop and look at the empty couch. The only trace of little Lewis was a post-it note that read, “ _needed to go to work. can’t come for this week. need to look after mum_.”

The elder crawled down the apartment stairs and into his busted up car. He settled in to lurk for his tapes. Ah, the classic metal 8-track he crafted. Murdoc plopped it into the player and pressed the button for the music to begin. At least he could listen to this while he drove to that vegetable’s house. It would probably be a twenty-minute drive with ten minutes to spare in the car. He had directions on a piece of parchment so he couldn’t get lost or else David would have him by the bollocks. The drive wasn’t too bad...well, save for that crazed office man driving behind him. Oh, satan, it was Rev Fosterman. Rev is one of those miserable office men who always calls the cops for loud parties or gay sex in the apartment.

Murdoc had wonderful memories to snicker at. Rev would bang on the walls to get Murdoc’s attention and saw two men naked on the bass player’s bed with him. We could swear that Rev’s face would become tomato red and he would pick up his expensive cell phone and have the police on their way to “the homosexual bum’s room” or “room 331”. Nowadays, Rev would just seethe on his couch and listen to the moans and music without calling anyone to do anything. Fuck, Murdoc must’ve finished half a pack during the drive and most of his bourbon was gone. Time to get a bit cleaner for now when in the presence of God and this family.

He shuffled towards the door and rang the doorbell. No one answered... another ring and the short curvy woman answered the door. She had on an apron, a simple salmon pink t-shirt, and worn out jeans. Rachel had the classic motherly yellow gloves and her hair was tied up in a bun with a blue scrunchie. Her pants really defined her elderly curves, not curves of a younger woman, but more of fat for a mother with tons of kids. She looked like she was cleaning thanks to the water stains on her apron and the smell of soap. Despite the smell of soap, there was a...sweeter aroma greeting his nose even though he was outside the door.

_Pastries_ , Murdoc thought.

“Sorry, dear,” Rachel said and took off her gloves. The mother stuffed them into her apron’s pocket. “I’ll wash up my hands and get Stuart. Come in. I made some croissants and some strawberries and creme, help yourself.” Off she vanished into a room and you took at the walls full of certificates, awards, and family photos.

The first one appeared to be a baby in a woven basket full of blankets and stuffed animals. The baby had glistening blue eyes. The next picture was one of him as a toddler at a sweet shop, frosting on his cheeks and a big sugar cookie in his hands and he had crops of brown hair. Murdoc looked at a weird picture and it was the third one. The photo showed Stuart looking around twelve and at a school talent show, but he had bright violet hair. The bassist laughed at the idea of religious families letting their sons dye their hair such a ridiculous color. The boy was playing the piano and looked like he was having a great time. In front of the photo was a big trophy for said talent show. Along with his diploma for completing secondary school were some piano certificates. The elder was stopped by the familiar sounds of footsteps and wheels. Indeed, it was Stuart and his mother. She placed her hands on her broad hips and stared at him with a strong and stern gaze.

“Alright Murdoc,” she said, biting his soul. “I’m going out to buy groceries for tonight’s dinner and I’ll need to see my cousins and aunts after groceries. There’ll be a list of instructions for you on the table along with numbers to call if anything happens. David won’t be back from that dirty fair until dark and you’ll be gone before dinner.”

The guilty man thought it was the end of it, but she turned him back to her gaze when he tried turning away from her.

“Don’t go into **any** of our rooms, please,” she bit again. “I **fucking** swear if you dare to hurt my baby boy, I will have you sent to the **damn** fires. Are we clear?”

Murdoc gulped the lump in his throat and nervously nodded. She released him from her pinching hand and nodded solemnly. She made a grab for her purse and keys only to wave and shut the door.

Damn, that lady is scary. She seemed so sweet until she let her inner wolf at him with her biting words and hardened gaze. She wasn’t the one to be messing with. The bassist shrugged his shoulders and ran over to the fridge for cold beer or any booze. Gold was discovered when David’s beer stash was in Murdoc’s presence and Murdoc lied on the couch to have only one can. Gotta take care of the poor bugger.

Murdoc couldn’t help but stare at the comatose man. He was stunning and rocked the lolita aesthetic and the goth look. His mother did a good job getting him ready for the day despite her not having any experience or understanding of the look. He touched the blue hair, twisting a small strand in his finger. It wasn’t harsh, but very soft. One of his sections had a small clip on it.

“Eh?” Murdoc murmured, “real blue hair?”

The bass player sighed and stroked the other’s hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You were just in the way. You’re truly too pretty to shatter.” The vegetable didn’t answer. Murdoc hated that and his face grew red. “Listen to me, goth twink! I had to endure mental, emotional, and fucking physical abuse for a measly future like this! It’s your fault!” The elder hit the boy’s head and decided to throw in a few more punches to the chest. He huffed and breathed heavily from the anger escaping him. He came back to earth to realize that he felt a bit better punching this silly sod, but he felt guilty as well. Murdoc went into the kitchen to check out Rachel’s list of demands.

“Feed every two and a half hours, change nappies every few hours, food in Tupperware in fridge, give him love.”

Simple woman, simple demands. “I wonder if this kid had any breakfast,” Murdoc muttered to himself. “Guess I should feed him a little or something.”

He looked at the mashed plums in the Tupperware and opened up the container. The sweet aroma blasted out like perfume and he put the mashed up fruit in a bowl and grabbed a fork. Feeding was simple and felt a bit nurturing to the thin goth. Murdoc made sure his pretty black lips weren’t smudged when the fork entered his mouth. He wished that his own mother was alive and well to take care of him when he was a baby. The bastard bassist bet that his mother was as sweet as Rachel and loving enough. If she was alive, she would NEVER let him near that Sebastian. He would’ve been called Murdoc Cruz instead of Murdoc Niccals. Oh— the bowl was empty and a bit of plum was on his little soft cheek. Murdoc wiped the plum off with a small napkin and smiled, kissing Stuart’s little nose.

“You seem to interest me, Stuie,” Murdoc whispered and grabbed the remote to turn the TV on. “How bout a little soap opera?”

He drove right back to his flat that night. Good thing he was able to get away from David. Although, he did have some dinner Rachel made. She could cook a mean chicken pot pie and mash and some blueberry cobbler for dessert. For some reason, she began to panic when he tried offering some of his cobbler to Stu. Was he allergic? Whatever. Time to call up some mates and piss off Rev. Good thing there are other Latinos in the area.

“Oi, Fernie!” Murdoc laughed into the phone. “Vente a mi apartamento! Vamos a echar una fiesta! Bring your bitches with you.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell the other foos to come over. We’ll get crazy.”

After ten minutes, multiple cars were parked around the apartment and reggaeton blasted into Murdoc’s apartment along with choices of death metal, dub, and punk. A nice-looking Portuguese woman was sitting on the couch with Murdoc, sitting pretty in his lap and rubbing down his chest hair. She trailed her finger to his belly button, feeling the jiggly beer belly and she kissed the belly button. The woman was brave enough to unzip his tight pants and begun going down on him. Her tongue worked it’s way as she used her free hand to touch herself, rubbing her clit achingly.

Everyone turned their attention to the man and couldn’t stop looking. They longed for a piece of those two. Suddenly, the doorbell rang and everyone went back to silence.

Murdoc pushed the girl’s face and zipped his pants back on. His heels clicked to the door and he opened it slightly.

“Welcome to the party,” Murdoc smirked.

“Turn down your Latin and satanic trash!” Rev demanded, arms crossed to his chest.

“Go away. You smell like cottage cheese. No wonder why you’re alone.”

“I’m not alone, you monkey! I have rabbits!”

Murdoc looked back at the party with a wide smile and Fernie gave him a bottle of pulque.

“Ah, if you don’t stop your bollocks, I’ll lurch on your rabbits for breakfast,” Murdoc snickered as he held tight onto the neck of the bottle.

Rev scoffed and turned around, not noticing Murdoc’s moves.

“If I wanted to hear nonsense from a psycho homosexual, I would’ve been a tra—“

BANG

The bottle shattered and glass pierced Rev’s eyes and forehead, making him bleed. The party guests looked at the fresh corpse and cheered, bringing him inside the flat.

“Hermano, what should we do?” Fernie asked Murdoc, tying up Rev’s body.

“I say we toss him out the window. He’s a tosser after all,” Murdoc snapped his fingers.

The guests circled around the window and they all pushed Rev’s fat body out of the window and listened to him crash on the ground. They flipped his corpse off and some spat on it.

“Oi, didn’t he say he got rabbits?” the Portuguese girl asked Murdoc, grabbing onto his waist and purred. “I always loved bunnies.”

“He did mention rabbits. I think it’s high time we rescued them, love.” Murdoc looked around the room. “¿Quién quiere adoptar conejitos?”

Three other people raised their hands.

“Alright, we break into his flat, steal some shit, and rescue the rabbits!”


	4. Liberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events  
> The Meeting  
> The Act  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Mentions of child sex abuse, racist slurs, gang violence, homophobia, humiliation, and ableism

It was time for a meeting at the garden. Lewis whipped his head up while bagging the lettuce and placing it in the crate. He looked around and waved at Gidgy Plowman, a fellow garden boy of age twenty-two. Gidgy took off his sun hat and grinned, making a clicking sound to signal other boys and a few girls near the fields. Some girls were carrying radishes, two boys had artichokes, and the rest dealt with lettuce. A girl clicked to Murdoc, signaling him.

_Meeting time, bitch._

A pair of older boys opened the abandoned cellar and placed down the wooden ladder. Jeffery, one of the older boys, nodded his head at the others.

“Hurry up,” he mumbled.

The group began climbing down the ladder and landed on the dusty floor. This was the place to talk and smoke during break. Sort of like a little break room for venting to your coworkers. Some girls pulled out folding chairs and prepared them, dusting off the seats.

“Thank you, Hannah,” Gidgy said and sat down, gathering some papers and a fat yellow folder. “I guess we came here for something really important judging by what I have in my mits. On the behalf of all the others, I deeply apologize for our attitude towards you on your first day. We misjudged you.” He held up his hand, signaling for Murdoc to speak.

“We’ve discussed our plan before,” Murdoc lit up a cigarette, “Lewis completed Part A by contacting authorities. They’re bound to show up tomorrow. He wrote notes for the arrival and we’ve discussed Part B and C the other day.”

“Thank you sir—“

“Part D is what I want to tell you about. I haven’t told you about it yet. I contacted some good friends of mine to take care of this. Goldhouse might be capable of breaking out of prison.”

“Sorry, Murdoc,” Hannah Read butted in. “But Goldhouse might not be mental enough to go after us.”

“Accept the possibilities, my dear,” Murdoc blew a smoke ring. “We must keep all of you safe. My friends and I will finish the job by killing her in prison. We just need to find out which prison after she’s sentenced, sneak in, and **bang**.”

“That explains,” Hannah replied. “You happen to have some more smokes on you, do ya?”

Murdoc dug into his pocket for another pack. “Knock yerself out, little lady. There’s more where that came from.”

The girl excitedly took out a smoke and lit it up. “Thank you so much.”

Gidgy opened the folder and cleared his throat. He took out some photos and distributed to the volunteers.

“Lewis,” Gidgy said, “you gave the detective the photos, video tapes, and audio tapes, right?”

“You bet I did. I went to their office yesterday. What you go is the original stuff. I gave em copies.”

“What exactly do we need the originals for?” Jeffery asked, drinking some bourbon.

“In case something happens or just for the pleasure of destroying disgusting traumas,” Lewis grinned, putting out his cigarette. “We aren’t exactly kids anymore, but we were kids when shit like this happened. Gretchen will pay, end of story.”

Gidgy looked over at some papers and began distributing them across the tables. The others looked at their papers, surprised and some of them began crying.

“We’ve all been approved for new jobs, brothers and sisters,” Gidgy smiled, combing his carrot top. “We’ll be free to leave.”

“I would just be transferred to a senior home or cleaning services for my sentence,” Murdoc laughed, taking out another cancer stick.

Jeffery looked at the clock and whipped his head around. “Twelve forty-five, everyone. Back to work before Goldhouse notices.”

“Meeting closed,” Gidgy announced. “I suggest you stuff your photos and papers into your bags. Don’t want her mucking up our plan.”

As the mob rose up, they heard a woman calling out for someone. They knew their boss wanted someone to come to her tent when the boys’ hairs stood up.

“Gidgy Plowman! Gidgy Plowman!” Miss Goldhouse called until she saw the selected boy among the mob. She stomped over and grabbed him by his left arm with a pinching thrust. “There you are. I’m feeling a little lonely. I need your assistance!”

“Don’t I have to—“ Gidgy began.

“I have a new task for you. The rest of you go to your assigned fields and tasks!” Goldhouse ran off, tugging the poor begging boy.

“Oi! Bitchhouse!” Murdoc called, holding an apple. “Let him go.”

“Mulatto, I have no business with you,” Goldhouse clenched her teeth. “Besides, you’re just a dirty soon-to-be inmate. Get back to work!”

The bassist scoffed and marched with Lewis towards the lettuce field. Hannah and her friends paid no attention and kept their focus on radishes, Jeffery dealing with kale, and Martin watering the daisies.

“You know there’s nothing we can do other than to wait for the detectives,” Hannah said. “We could attempt to attack her, but we’d be charged.”

“Murdoc, I hope Gidgy will be fine,” Lewis said with heavy doses of worry in his eyes.

“It’s sad for him to endure this,” Murdoc said, giving Lewis a cigarette and a lighter, “but help is on the way. Tomorrow, we don’t come into work. We’ll let the detectives storm her tent and I’ll keep an ear out for the prison she might head off to.”

“Wouldn’t there be a trial?” Jeffery asked, putting down an artichoke. “If so, I’ll make sure to watch it on my pop-pop’s television.”

“Jeffery, I’m sure there’ll be a trial,” Lewis said, picking up a shovel. “Let’s just get back to work, yeah?”

When five pm rolled around, the workers got into a truck, leaving their vehicles behind for a bit.

“Oi,” Murdoc said, “you lot didn’t tell me where we’re going.”

“We’re going out to get dinner. Goldhouse doesn’t have to know,” Gidgy grumbled. “We don’t always go out for dinner in this truck, but we need to trick Goldhouse into thinking we’re working on the underground water system here.”

“Oh, that explains.”

“Can we go to a McDonald’s?” Hannah asked. “Or where do you plan on going to?”

Murdoc fell silent and chose to just sit down and keep quiet. Maybe he could think about ordering a Big Mac to satiate his hunger rather than having expired food in his dirty apartment. His ears suddenly stung when he heard some random boy band pop music play on the radio. Hannah changed the station to some rock station. It was a depressing grunge song and Hannah seemed to enjoy it.

“This song reminds me of my early years in secondary school,” she said to Gidgy. “RIP Kurt Cobain!”

“Thank fuck you changed the music,” Murdoc said. “Never really heard this song before.”

Hannah stared back at Murdoc with disgust in her eyes. “Are you mad? This song is a banger! Nirvana’s best song!”

The bastard punk bopped along to the song and smiled. “It’s good, though. I like it.”

“I always bring in my good ol’ radio while dusting off that nasty witch’s trinkets,” Hannah spoke to Gidgy, giving him a playful push. “Gretchen complains when I switch to 97.4 fm, asking me to turn that stoner music off.”

Gidgy immediately pulled up in the drive-thru and turned to Hannah. “Babe, what do you hunger for?”

“I reckon I’ll get a plain burger and a four-piece.”

“I’ll have a Big Mac,” Murdoc told Gidgy, suddenly shutting up from the embarrassment of blurting out without being asked.

“Sure,” Gidgy replied, “I’ll pay for that too. You’re our friend. You’re our savior, too.”

That night, Murdoc was in his apartment and he noticed some policemen searching into Rev’s room for any clues of his “suicide”. Those pesky pigs didn’t dare to question him or profile him based on his seemingly plumper lips and Afro-centric features. They never saw his natural hair anyways.   
He went ahead and got into his tub, playing some soothing reggae on his mini boombox. He soaked his brown body and applied some shampoo on his hair, thinking about how he would be a hero to those poor unfortunate children. He washed out the soap and made sure to condition his lovely hair properly. After exiting the shower, he saw that his pair puffed up to its natural kinky curls. He furrowed his brows and covered his eyes. He always hated it that way. Why couldn’t he have it naturally straight? Why couldn’t he be spared from the injustice?! He stopped sobbing and simply jumped into his bed. The landline rang and he breathed into it heavily when he lifted the receiver.

“Who this?” he asked, twisting the spiral.

“It’s Rachel Beauregarde,” the other side said. “I’m just reminding you that you are required to come by my house at 9 in the morning. I’m going out for Bingo with the ladies and you won’t have work tomorrow at the garden since I invited Gretchen to come along with me!”

“Did you say ‘Gretchen’? Gretchen Goldhouse?” Murdoc gulped.

“Yes. She’s a lovely woman and your boss. Why? Do I need to know something?” Rachel asked.

“I think you do, but you won’t believe me.”

“Dear,” Rachel muttered, “I will believe you. Answer truthfully... can you tell me why she had a photo of a young boy looking terrified in her purse? I saw it last week.”

“She’s a predator to children,” Murdoc replied. “Those volunteers were victims of child abuse in their youth. I’m helping them and the authorities are coming into the garden to search her. Don’t allow her to go to Bingo with you.”

The mother fell silent for a moment, then began panicking. “S-she was Stuart’s nanny when he was 5 until age 14. How can she be a vile woman?”

“Did Stu ever show signs of being anxious or signs of abuse?” Murdoc asked, truly worried for the poor blue-haired boy.

“No,” Rachel sighed in relief. “But in case of the possibly of what you say is true, I will cancel Bingo for her. I’ll tell the other ladies about the case and we’ll shun her. Thank you for informing me.”

The punk nodded and hung up. He lied down in his bed, thinking about calling someone else. Maybe check in on that Portuguese bird and talk dirty to her. Nah. She’s probably snogging some other man. Maybe another woman... Perhaps he could call Lewis and check in on him. That sounds like a good idea. Murdoc began dialing the number and waited for Lewis to pick up.

“Hello?” Lewis asked.

“Lewis! How’s my boy doing?” Murdoc said in surprise.

“Oh, I was just checking in my last paycheck for my mum’s chemo bills,” he answered. “Can’t wait for a new life and justice to be served for us. Though, I won’t be paid as much as this job in the future, but I will still be making money to care for my mum.”

“That’s good. Maybe tomorrow, you can swing by my abode? I’ll have a vegetable friend with me.”

“The town goth?” Lewis chuckled. “Heard he’s a cutter. That’s what the elders say. They say he’s on the train to Hell and ready to give the devil head.”

“Fuck those elders,” Murdoc said with disgust. “He doesn’t seem so bad. Lewis, do me a favor and don’t EVER imitate the goddamned patriarchy. They’re the same people who belittle you, thinking a strapping young man like yourself can’t get raped.”

“I guess you’re right. Well, I’ll come by tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Murdoc shook his head. He never knew that Stu had such degrading aliases for simply dressing how he wants to. Such disgusting bums make up rumors about the poor boy instead of worrying about their own lives. The town goth? What other aliases did he go by? Maybe the town has a small forum or a blog about the town’s gossip...

He typed in “Crawley gossip” into google and some results popped up. The first one was a link to what looked like a gossip blog of the town. The first story was the usual... wives cheating on their husbands, men being seen at gay clubs somewhere else, teenage hooligans, dirt on some of the most hated families, yadda yadda yadda— then there was an article about Stu Beauregarde. It was a humiliating picture of him being seen in a dress with his skirt being lifted by the wind, showing his stockings, garters, and little panties. The article was just homophobic mumbo-jumbo about teaching parents how to parent stricter for their kids to end up “righteous in the Lord’s eyes”. It made the punk sick to his stomach. There were other pictures such as the camera person harassing Stu at the music shop, pouring water on him to make his eyeliner trail down, and some other shenanigans to embarrass him.

There was an entire gallery dedicated to embarrassing people. There were folders such as “homosexual teenagers”, “cutters”, “cheating wives”, and “liberal mums”. Under the folder of homosexual teenagers was a whole sub folder dedicated to Stu. Murdoc clicked to the “about” page of the blog and saw who the authors and admins were. The page was ran by homophobic white extremists women and their husbands. It was a sort of “mum blog” to educate new mums, report the latest “news” of the town, and make fools of the local hooligans. The other tabs were just “Katie’s mum journey” and “Judith’s Lessons”.

It was too much for Murdoc to handle, so he closed down the tab and closed his laptop. He wished he hadn’t set his eyes on that gross website. How could these people be this cruel to an innocent boy who just wants to live how he wants to? No need for distractions now because tomorrow was a big day for him and his fellow co-workers. All he needs is fresh sleep, a clean mind, and a steady gaze.

The alarm rang, hinting that Murdoc needed to pick up Stu this morning while Rachel went to the bingo parlor. He couldn’t wait to see the blue-haired cunt he accidentally ran over. In a way, he was sort of alluring and handsome despite missing one eye. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind and that face was damn sure the prettiest face he’s ever seen. When Murdoc made it to the Beauregarde household, he saw Rachel get into her car.

“Oh, Murdoc!” Rachel said. “I didn’t know you had fuzzy hair. It looks rather dashing on you.”

The bastard looked at his rear view mirror in his car and went pale in horror. “D-Don’t tell anyone my real hair looks like this!”

“Dear, it’s perfect on you,” Rachel assured. “It’s your natural hair and God blessed you with it. Your race or color doesn’t matter with me or have anything to do with my beliefs. Now, why don’t I let you pick up Stuart and you two can be on your merry way?” The punk nodded and the short mother hurried into the room, carrying poor Stu with no struggle. “Have him home by seven.”

Murdoc nodded and took Stuart into his car. “I’m having the co-workers at my home this afternoon.”

“I’ve explained everything to the ladies and we agreed to tell Gretchen that the parlor is closed so we can go without her,” Rachel explained. “I hope you save those poor innocent children.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” Murdoc smiled. “I will. The officers will send me to the soup kitchen.”

Rachel grinned warmly like any mother would, getting into her car and drove away.

Murdoc saw as the vehicle faded from his view, then looked at the wheelchair-bound vegetable. “Well, we can go to my flat. Lewis and the others will be there.” He gave his white cheek a small kiss and patted his head. He gently set the goth in to the backseat and studied him. He had on black lipstick, his iconic eyeliner wings, violet eyeshadow, and a small white padlock necklace. His clothing was a simple black sweater and jeans with Marilyn Manson platforms. Maybe his mum does know a thing or two about goth fashion... Murdoc broke from his studies and sat in his seat, starting up the car before popping in some AC/DC into his 8-track tape player.   
  


By the time he reached his flat, there was Gidgy’s truck and some Honda cars parked in the guest lot. In the lobby was the entire council and they smoked their cigarettes despite the “no smoking sign”. The doorman wasn’t present anyways. Hannah had a golden retriever with her and it stared at Murdoc as he wheeled Stu in.

“Murdoc! Who’s yer friend?” Hannah asked, kneeling down to smile at the poor boy. She giggled as her dog began nuzzling Stu’s long legs.

“This is Stuart Beauregarde!” Murdoc announced proudly as if he was at an awards show.

“You mean the freak?” Gidgy asked. “I heard he turned into a huge ball at lunch time.”

“Oh, that’s cock!” the bassist laughed. “People in Crawly are such gossips!”

“Where’s your apartment?” Jeffrey asked.

“Let’s get to the elevator. I have a key.”

Everyone got into the two elevators, told to go to the third floor, third hall, first room. Everyone was in slight disgust at the messy place and somewhat bearable stench. Lewis got out his big bag of crisps as Hannah helped wheel Stu in. She set him in a corner and turned to Murdoc.

“How do you feed ‘im?” Hannah asked, pointing at the thin catatonic boy.

“Feed him mashed carrots, plums, and other produce,” the raven-haired man responded. “Keeps his tummy tamed.”

The crew sat down, some on the couch, others on the floor, and more on the wooden chairs. The dog laid down next to Gidgy. Lewis grinned wickedly at the knowledge of a certain raid. “Willie Bud is at the garden and he’ll call when the cops get there. All we have to do is wait. Read a book, eat a snack, maybe watch the telly. I’m in charge of the phone.”

“I can almost taste satisfaction,” Jeffrey cackled. “This is for riding me by force.”

“Patience, Jeff,” Lewis chuckled, “we’ll each have our payment once it’s reaped. She can’t get away with this.”

“I probably won’t get my end since this country doesn’t care about people like me,” Murdoc huffed.

“Oh, they must!” Lorelei Tupper, a brown girl, said. “My family’s from the Philippines and I’ve been called stuff my whole life! They better treat a black man like you as an equal!”

The phone rang and Lewis picked it up. “Ello?” he said. His eyes widened when a voice responded through the machine. “No way! She got arrested already? They’re storming?!”

Hannah smiled wide and began clapping with the others. “Hurry! Find the news channel!”

Murdoc grabbed the remote and began flipping to Channel 6 News. There on the screen was Gretchen Goldhouse herself being escorted by policemen. Another officer was holding a big orange file, a camera, and a basket full of tapes.

“Community Garden owner, Gretchen Goldhouse was searched after being accused of rape, manufacturing and possession of child pornography, and child abuse,” the reporter said, “her trial will be held by tomorrow morning when police examine the evidence.”

Gidgy smiled and laughed at this. “Look at her being walked out!”

“Alleged victims were 22-year-old Gidgy Plowman, 22-year-old Hannah Read, 19-year-old Lewis Jenkins, and many more.” the television showed pictures of the workers and back to Gretchen, who was angrily hitting the car windows.

“Tomorrow’s the trial,” Lewis gasped. “Let’s have a sleepover so we can watch it with breakfast!”

“You guys sleep on the floor because I don’t got spare beds,” Murdoc said. “But we’ll have great time here!”

“Great!” Hannah said. “Oops! I left my cheesecake in the car! I’ll bring them in!” She walked out of the flat with her cheerful strut.

“So this guy here is Stuart Beauregarde himself!” Lewis laughed. “Marilyn Manson shoes, simple pants and shirt, and makeup!” The boy strikes him on the cheek, then laughed. “His eye looks rather silly!”

“He’s so bony!” Gidgy snickered. “We should feed him before he wastes away.”

“Alright,” Murdoc growled, “that’s enough. That gossip site messed his reputation around Crawly and don’t hit him!”

“Chill out, grandpa!” Gidgy chortled. “Not gonna lie, he does seem attractive.”

Hannah bounced back with two cheesecakes. One with strawberries on them and the other with caramel. She set the desserts on the table and Lewis got out a bottle of Cristal.

“Where in your budget did you get that?” Hannah asked Lewis, pointing at the bottle.

“Stole it,” he simply said before pouring a glass.

The girl kept her mouth shut and looked at Stu. “Poor thing. He can use some of my famous cheesecakes!”

“He is getting thinner,” Murdoc nodded. “Anyways, why don’t we go shopping? I can use some fresh foods.”

“We’ll all chip in money,” Jeffrey smiled. “Let’s make a beef stew.”

“I’ll see if there’s any rice left at Tesco so I can make some chicken adobo!” Lorelei suggested. 


End file.
